


The Countdown

by crammit



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:52:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crammit/pseuds/crammit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She leaves for college in two weeks. Thirteen days, five hours and forty-three minutes, to be exact, but you block that number quickly from your thoughts. It feels better to think of the time in a roundabout way, instead of acknowledging that your time with Santana is reduced to hours and minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Countdown

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Glee and its characters do not belong to me. I'm only borrowing them. But I promise to put them right back where I found them.

You force your gaze away from the glowing red numbers of your alarm clock and rub distractedly at your eyes, the 3:17 lingering behind your eyelids for a few seconds. Rolling your head against your pillow, you shift your weight over to your left side and lightly drop your palm onto the mattress. Your fingers rest halfway between your body and Santana's and you curl them into a fist to keep from reaching for her. Instead you let your eyes linger on the faint outline of her body under the top sheet, the darkness of the room broken only by the faint glow of your alarm clock behind you.

She leaves for college in two weeks. Thirteen days, five hours and forty-three minutes, to be exact, but you block that number quickly from your thoughts. It feels better to think of the time in a roundabout way, instead of acknowledging that your time with Santana is reduced to hours and minutes. She had come over earlier that afternoon with a list of things she'd need for her dorm, for her classes, for the cheerleading training camp due to start weeks before her freshman semester even began. Your parents had been on their way out, a weekend away to some place you can't remember right now, and had made a joke about picking up a souvenir for her to bring to her dorm. Santana had blushed, constantly caught in a state of disbelief and gratitude that your family so easily accepted her. Your mom had met your eyes as your dad hugged Santana goodbye and you knew that the weekend away was as much for you and Santana as it was for them.

You'd both spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening looking online at bathroom caddies, and workout clothes, and text books, and bedspreads. It was that last search that found both of you wrapped up together on your simple striped bedspread, laptop forgotten as she whispered into your ear about which ones would look prettiest against your skin. You'd been caught up then, in her skin and her smell and her body against yours as you worked each other up talking about the potential of that first sleepover at her dorm. You'd come to the press of her fingers inside you and her lips against your cheek teasing you that you'd have to learn to be quiet since she'd have a roommate soon.

But for now, it's just the two of you in your bedroom. The same bedroom where you shared your first secret with Santana which led to your first kiss, with Santana. And even though your first time started tentative and clumsy, eyes closed tight in an embrace against the side of Puck's shed a few summers ago, it was in this bedroom where you first made love to Santana. Even though she refused to call it that for the longest time, you knew. Eventually, so did she and you can tease her now about it without regret clouding those beautiful brown eyes.

You relax your fingers and bring your hand to rest gently against the curve of Santana's hip, her skin warm under the sheet. You shuffle a little bit closer and prop your head up on your hand to look at her, inhaling deeply as you realize that in two weeks, she'll be the first to leave. You're so proud of her. You are. But there is a dull ache that sits against your heart and every morning when you wake up, the countdown begins again and it's less than you started with and you can admit to yourself that you're scared. You know Santana loves you. You know this as sure as you know anything in your life. But Louisville is not Lima and Santana has always been bigger than Lima, even if she doesn't always see that.

You try to make yourself feel better by looking up silly facts about where she's going. Like how a company in Louisville makes most of the US's disco balls and how that will come in handy since you know she totally stole the John Travolta suit after disco week in Glee. She just kissed the tip of your nose and rolled her eyes. But you catch her sometimes, looking through your bookmarks, curious about where she's headed. And you're excited for her and even a little bit for yourself, thinking about getting to go and visit her there. But as it gets closer to the time for her to leave, you find yourself feeling irrational and anxious, and late at night you delete a bookmark or two as if that would stop everything. You just end up feeling guilty and miserable and petty and you spend the next 20 minutes bookmarking even more links to make up for the few you deleted.

You sigh again thinking about it and Santana shifts restlessly under the weight of your hand. You feel your eyes burn and you blink against the urge to cry as your fingers tighten against her waist, the countdown thumping along with your heartbeat now. You lean forward and press your lips against her shoulder, your body sliding across the mattress to press up against Santana, desperation causing your knees to bump into hers.

"Britt?" Her gravelly voice sounds muffled against her pillow and you bring your hand from her waist to brush her hair back across her shoulder, your lips moving instead to press lightly against her cheek.

"I'm sorry I woke you, San." Wrapping your arm against her ribs, you whisper your apology with another kiss to her cheek.

Santana brings her arm out from under the sheet and tangles your fingers together, bringing your joined hands to her mouth and pressing a kiss to your palm. "What's the matter, baby? Can't sleep?"

Her voice sounds sleepy and warm and you know you should be feeling comforted by it but all you can think about is how you won't be able to hear it in two weeks and how she won't be there in your bed. You drop your forehead to the back of her neck and shudder in a breath, her name coming out on the exhale.

"Brittany, what's wrong?" Her voice sounds more awake now and she drops your hand and presses her shoulder against you, turning her body to try and face you. "What happened?"

You ease back and let her turn towards you, your legs tangling together under the sheets as her warm hands cup your cheeks. Her eyes search yours and instinct has you leaning forward to press a kiss to her brow, now furrowed in concern.

You hear her inhale to speak and you drop your mouth to hers, kissing her bottom lip as your hands grab lightly at her wrists and pull them down. Using the pressure of your kiss, you roll her onto her back, your leg slipping between hers as your elbows find a place on her pillow above her shoulders. As her hands slide along your back to press against your waist, you release the kiss and tilt your head back to look at her.

"I love you, Santana." The words tumble from your lips in a rush and you feel the kick of her heartbeat, her chest pressed tight against yours. You watch the corner of her mouth lift up as she makes a lazy pass across your back with her fingertips.

"I love you too, Britt. Did you wake me up just to tell me that?" The last bit is said on a smirk that fades quickly as your eyes flick back and forth between hers. You can feel her body pressed against you everywhere and you feel safe and warm under the sheet draped across your back. You rock forward slightly and watch her mouth part as your thigh puts a little more pressure between her legs.

You have things you want to say to her, words that are pushing down from your brain about how you are scared to be left here without her. About how you're worried that she'll forget you once she's away. Irrational words and doubting words that don't make sense in your heart but have grown and festered in your head. You believe in fairy tales and magic and your love for Santana and her love for you is all of those things but fairy tales are forever. And you just have two more weeks before she's gone.

You can feel the countdown like a tangible thing and you just want it to stop.

Bracing your elbow against her pillow, you bring your other hand to her jaw, your thumb running over the heated skin of her cheek. Her eyes are watching you and you feel yourself on the verge of tears so you lean down and kiss her. Inhaling through your nose, you keep the kiss simple, just a press of your lips against hers, as you shift your feet and roll your hips against her.

Her moan vibrates against your mouth and you slide your lips from hers when you feel her hands find purchase low on your waist, her legs parting further as she plants her feet more firmly against the mattress. She rocks up and you can feel her residual wetness from your earlier lovemaking, your stomach tightening with the memory of the taste of her and her breathy laughing plea for mercy as her hands tugged on your hair.

Your bodies move together slowly, the press and slide of soft skin a dance long since fine-tuned on nights much like this. You drop your head and press your open mouth to her collarbone, her skin dampening from the breath across your lips. You rock down harder and feel your own wetness coating her thigh as her hands meet against your lower back, guiding your rhythm.

Moving your lips to her throat, you can feel her breath and her small sounds of pleasure and your own moan rushes across her skin. You stretch your arms higher against the pillow and grab against the edge of the fabric, releasing the sweat between your bodies that you can feel against her stomach.

"Brittany…the sheet. It's too hot." Her lips press against your temple and you realize your hair is damp against her skin. You lift your head up when you feel her hands reach up to tug the sheet down and your heart starts to pound.

"No…" You roll your hips faster and her hands dig into your shoulder blades, the sheet forgotten.

You rush forward and kiss her, your tongue sliding against hers without preamble, already matching the rhythm of your hips. You're surrounded in the taste and feel of her. Even with the sheet sticking to your back and your breasts sliding together, the sweat making your motions effortless, you just want to keep her here under you. And even though you know it's not rational, the sheet feels like the only thing keeping everything out. Under the sheet, it's just you and Santana. Just her body seeking and taking pleasure from yours, her mouth kissing you and her hands holding you close, and her heart…her heart racing right along with yours. Together.

You can feel your lower stomach clenching as Santana tenses her thigh and presses just a little higher against you and you know you're not going to last much longer. Groaning, you break the kiss to look at her and it's the sight of your hair hanging down and brushing against hers, catching on the dark curls spread across the pillow, that is your undoing. Such a simple thing and yet suddenly all you can think about is how she is leaving soon and you won't be able to see this again. You know it's dramatic and silly and you want to stop your thoughts but they keep building and you can feel your eyes start to water.

You see Santana's lips tremble as brings her thumbs to brush at your tears and you know she's feeling some of the things you're feeling. And you don't know if that makes you feel better or worse but you push it away. You push it away and press a hard kiss to her lips and then press your cheek tight against hers and rock your body faster, giving yourself over to the pleasure. You hear her breath catch as she digs her nails into your shoulders, one hand sliding up to grab against the nape of your neck.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." You hear yourself whispering the words over and over against her ear. Santana's hips roll desperately against you, her own declarations muffled against your neck and ending on a low groan as she comes, her legs trembling between yours as she clutches tight to your skin. You arch your back and push up as your own orgasm races over you, your eyes open and on Santana as she watches you. A few minutes pass before you lower back down, bringing your arms down and pulling Santana with you until you're both pressed together on your sides, your face tucked against her neck.

Her arms are wrapped around your shoulders and yours are tight on her waist and the silence of the room is only broken by your panting breaths. You feel Santana press a kiss to your hair and she pulls you even closer.

"We're going to be okay, Britt. I love you so,so much. I promise...we'll be fine." You breathe deep and try to let her words calm you. She's here with you, warm and familiar and just everything Santana that you love and have loved and you feel some of that desperation slip away. "Sleep now, baby. Okay?"

"Okay, San. I love you too." You're rewarded with another kiss to your forehead and you settle more comfortably against her. You bring one of your hands up and let our palm rest against her chest.

In the morning, the countdown will begin again. But for right now, with her heartbeat steady against you, two weeks away seems like forever.


End file.
